


Love The Way We Live This Life We're In

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon - Book, Canon Kidfic, Family Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21770719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: "If anyone had told Edward ten, or even five, years ago that he'd be spending the night before his birthday—a Friday night, no less—at a primary school concert, he wouldn't have believed it."Chapter One: In honour of Edward Little's 208th birthday, "family" prompt, and the 2019 Terror Bingo "free space."Chapter Two: In honour of Edward Little's 209th birthday, and the 2020 Terror Bingo space "the best of a bad situation."
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shamelessly fluffy modern AU, based on book canon, and we all know what that means. (If you don't, it means Thomas has a son and, in this case, ex-partner, Elisabeth.)

The school gymnasium is nearly full when Edward and Thomas arrive, packed to the rafters with parents, grandparents, and tiny children perched on acres of folding chairs. Edward sees a flash of leopard print waving at them from near the front of the room. 

“This way,” he tells Tom. Together, they move through the crowd, to where Sarah Jopson has her handbag spread across two otherwise empty seats. It's big enough for the task. 

“Happy Birthday for tomorrow, Ed, love,” Tom's mother says, as they make their way apologetically down the row of seats towards her. She kisses Edward as he squeezes by, enveloping him in a cloud of flowery perfume. “It took you boys long enough to get here.”

“You know what Frank's like.” Tom sits down. Edward does the same, nodding a polite greeting at Tom's ex-partner Elisabeth on his other side. 

“Ooh!” Sarah grins. “He's dead sexy, that's what Frank is. You need to invite us both over to yours after Christmas.” Tom sighs, but Sarah looks past him at Edward. “You'll do that for me, won't you, love? Be a nice gift for your old mother-in-law.” 

“We are not setting you up with Francis Crozier, Mum.” It's not the first time those words have passed Tom's lips. Edward doesn't know what would be so bad about it. Frank and Sarah have a good deal in common, and, despite Tom's protests, Crozier is practically Tom's surrogate father already. 

As Tom and his mother bicker back and forth, Elisabeth says, “Avery's class is going up second.” She's still in her Sainsbury's uniform, meaning she must have rushed here as well. “It was a hell of a job to get him into his snowman outfit. Tells me he hates wearing costumes. He must get that from you. Tom and I love dressing up.” Edward is painfully aware of this fact, by virtue of four Halloweens of Tom attempting to get him into a couples costume. 

“Elisabeth and I went as Juno and Paulie when she was pregnant with Avery,” is his argument.

“Get me pregnant,” Edward always counters, “and I'll do the same.” Which usually succeeds in changing the subject, if nothing else.

“This is for you.” Elisabeth passes Edward a sheet of paper. It's a drawing, in nine-year-old Avery's signature Lego-inspired style, of two men, a boy and a TV. Underneath, he has written, in relatively neat penmanship: _This year I'm spending Christmas at Dad and Ed's. It will be lots of fun!!! I like to draw and play PS4 with Ed. Somtimes we play Minecraft and somtimes we play Fortnite_

Beneath, a more adult hand has drawn a smiling face in red pen, and added, _Good job, Avery! Don't forget to use “colourful words”!_

“'Colourful words'?” Tom looks over his shoulder. “He'll learn plenty of those playing Fortnite with you.” 

“We only did it once.” Several weeks earlier, when Tom was ill and spent the day in bed. Later, they made him soup and a cup of tea and brought it to him on a tray. “And Mrs. Heaton means adjectives.” He and Avery have discussed this before. Before he can elaborate, the school's headteacher walks onto the stage. Edward folds the paper and puts it into his inside pocket, as a general hush falls over the audience. 

If anyone had told Edward ten, or even five, years ago that he'd be spending the night before his birthday—a Friday night, no less—at a primary school concert, he wouldn't have believed it. He was a Royal Navy man, devoted to his career. He never planned on fatherhood, never planned on marriage. He wasn't even eager to have a long-term partner. He didn't need one. The Navy was everything to him. Then he met Tom Jopson, and all of a sudden, it wasn't. 

Tom had been in the Navy, as well, although he never sailed with Edward. It was just as well. Edward wouldn't have been able to keep his hands off him. They met at a touristy restaurant, The Admiralty, at Francis Crozier's reluctantly celebrated fiftieth birthday party. The party was on a Friday night; by the time he and Tom finally parted ways, on Sunday evening, Edward knew he was in love for the first time in his life. 

Over the course of the next few days, he spent more time texting Tom than he'd spent texting in total, ever. When they at last got together again, the following Saturday evening, it was as good as finding an oasis after months in the desert. Edward had never felt like this about anybody before. Even though they were on the street in front of Tom's flat, in full view of passersby, Edward swept Tom up into a long, passionate kiss, without even pausing to worry what people might think. Rather the reverse. _Let them look if they want to,_ he thought. _Because this man is_ fucking mine. 

“Ed,” Tom said, when he pulled back. Nobody else called him that. Edward loved it. “We need to talk.” Those words, and the sad look in Tom's eyes, were as successful an erection-killer as Edward had ever encountered. In the space of seconds, he went from euphoric to miserable. 

“About what?” 

“Come upstairs.” 

They'd spent the previous weekend at Edward's place, but Tom's flat was just as Edward pictured it. Neat, tidy. Everything in its place. Including a toy castle, a Thomas the Tank Engine railroad track, a pair of small shoes against the wall and a school uniform jumper on a hook. 

Admittedly, those came as a bit of a surprise. 

“My son Avery is five years old,” Tom said. “I share custody with his mother. That's why I left the Navy.”

Edward waited for him to go on. When he didn't, he prompted, “And?” He had to get this over with. 

“And what?” 

“And, what did you want to talk about?”

“That.” Tom frowned. “Most guys don't like to hear I have a kid.” Edward felt an absurd flare of jealousy at the mere mention of other men. 

“Maybe,” Edward replied, “I'm not like them.” He meant it to be a strong statement, the staking of a claim, informing Tom he could forget any other man he'd ever known, because he had Edward now. It came out sounding more like a question. 

In any case, Tom answered it, his forehead creasing thoughtfully. “Maybe you're not."

Later that night, when Tom was deeply asleep with his head on Edward's chest and his arm across Edward's waist, Edward lay awake wondering just what he was getting himself into. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew whatever it was, it would be worth it. Tom would be worth it. 

“There he is!” Sarah hisses, unnecessarily, as Avery and his classmates waddle onstage in their costumes. She, Tom and Elisabeth raise their phones to take pictures. Edward gives Avery what he hopes is a smile of encouraging solidarity as the class begins an off-key, off-tempo rendition of "Frosty the Snowman" that nevertheless manages to be the best Edward's ever heard. 

If Tom had been childless, Edward is certain they would have moved in together the weekend after they met. As it was, they were forced to take things a bit slower, which Edward has to concede was probably a better idea. It wasn't too much slower, in any case. Three months later, Edward, the man who thought he would never marry, livened up his own birthday dinner by spontaneously proposing. Tom enthusiastically said yes. As clichéd as it is, Edward had quite literally never been happier. 

A week after that, they had Christmas at Sarah's house, and Edward met Avery for the first time. They didn't get off to the greatest of starts. 

“I like your scarf,” Edward said, after the introductions were made. It was maroon and yellow, and long enough to wind several times around Avery's small neck. “You a Man United fan?” 

“It's Gryffindor,” Avery corrected, voice dripping with disdain. He sounded, in fact, exactly like Tom did, whenever somebody jammed up the photocopier or burned the coffee in the lunchroom. 

Avery was just like Tom, in a lot of ways. He looked like Tom. He spoke like Tom. But while Tom was happily buzzing between the guests, talking with everyone about their engagement and planned autumn wedding, Edward noticed Avery had disappeared. 

_Someone must know where he is_ , Edward told himself. _It's probably fine._ But since he had no desire to be asked by yet another of Tom's drunken uncles if Edward was planning to wear the wedding dress or if Tom would, he slipped away to look. He found Avery sitting on the floor in a corner of a bedroom, his back against the wall and a colouring book on his knee. 

“You okay?” Avery nodded. “Right.” _I should probably go, then,_ he thought, but it seemed wrong to leave a child alone, especially on Christmas Day. Instead, he went around and stood beside him. This seemed strange, as if he was looming over Avery, so Edward ignored the popping of his knees and sat on the floor. 

Once down there, he realized he had no idea what to say. “Nice picture.” He didn't recognize the characters Avery was colouring, but he was staying mostly within the lines, which seemed good for his age. Edward wasn't sure. All he knew about nearly-six-year-olds was what he'd hurriedly Googled before he left the house that morning. 

“It's too noisy,” Avery said, as if that was an answer. 

Edward understood perfectly. “I know. Too many people.” He'd spent most of his life as part of a crowd, but Edward still hadn't learned how to enjoy it.

“Yeah,” Avery agreed. 

“I have eleven brothers and sisters,” Edward said, counting his many half-siblings and step-siblings. “I hide sometimes, too.”

“Why do you have that many?” 

Edward laughed. “That's a question for my parents.” And Avery, he supposed, was a subject he ought to bring up with them at some point before the wedding. 

“Are you and Daddy going to have more kids?” 

“What?” A knot of panic began to tie itself within Edward. He wasn't prepared to answer these sorts of parenting questions. It was only his first day. 

“When Josie's mum got married to her other dad, they had a baby, and then another one. Then her mum had twins and then she had four sisters. I don't want four sisters. Or four brothers.” 

“Oh. Well, you haven't got to worry about that.” He prayed silently that Avery would have no follow-up questions. It seemed it didn't. 

“Daddy said you sail on a ship.” 

“That's right.” He hesitated. “But I don't know if I'm going to keep doing that.” Nobody knew it, not even Tom, but Edward had been turning the idea of leaving the Navy over in his mind for a while. 

It wasn't an ideal time. He'd reached a respectable rank, but there were goals he had yet to accomplish. He'd sailed all over the South Pacific, Asia and the Middle East, but he'd never gone north, never seen the Arctic region he'd been fascinated by since he was a kid. But the thought of a voyage like that, something he'd been dreaming of his whole life, soured when he remembered it would mean having to leave home for months. Any voyage would mean that, and he was due for one soon. Usually, that would be cause for eager anticipation, but now, Edward was dreading it. Leaving home never bothered him before, but then he'd never had a home he minded leaving. 

Alternatives existed. Edward's former captain, Frank Crozier, had started a business doing contract work for private shipping companies. Tom was his executive assistant. Crozier would hire Edward in a heartbeat, and Tom would love having Edward in the same office, not to mention at home for good. But Edward had to be certain it was the right decision before he said anything to either of them.

“Why?” Avery asked. 

“Because I don't want to leave your dad.” That was it, plain and simple. 

“So don't do that,” Avery replied, as if it was just as simple. 

Maybe it was. Edward stayed there, on the floor, colouring various Pokemon until Tom found them and beaming, told them it was time to eat. 

The day after Boxing Day, Edward tendered his resignation to the Navy, and emailed Crozier asking if he would be free to meet for a cup of tea in the new year. 

***

Despite his large number of siblings—or maybe because of it—Edward's family is not one in which anyone is ever encouraged to make a fuss over anything. The Jopsons, on the other hand, are very much fuss-makers, particularly Tom's mother. When the performance finishes, Sarah hoots and whistles. Edward, a little more sedate but no less enthusiastic, claps loudly, along with Avery's parents, while Avery and his classmates take their bows. Their teacher herds them offstage, and Edward feels Thomas' hand grasp his, down between their seats. 

Tom appreciates how much Edward loves Avery. Edward doesn't do it for Tom, though. Not anymore. At first, he wanted to get along with Avery because if he didn't, he couldn't have Tom, and not having Tom is too horrific a situation for Edward to contemplate. Very soon, however, he realized what a great kid Avery is. Smart, kind, artistic, interesting. Eager to welcome him into the family, once they got the Gryffindor thing sorted out, and forgiving of Edward's missteps as a beginning stepparent. If he and Tom ever got divorced, another situation that doesn't bear thinking about, Edward knows he'd be just as devastated to lose Avery. 

“Josie didn't even dance the way she was supposed to,” Avery complains later, as he and Edward lie beneath the tent of his loft bed. Its a pain in the arse—and the knees, and the back—for Edward to climb up into it, but there's no better place to read Harry Potter. It's taken them nearly two years, starting from _The Philosopher's Stone_ , and they're now halfway through _The Deathly Hallows._ “She never listens.” 

Edward slips their bookmark into their new spot, a little reluctantly. These books are damned hard to put down. “That's annoying. You couldn't tell, though. It was great.”

Avery gives a theatrical sigh. “I hate dressing up.” 

“We all have to do stuff we hate sometimes.” 

“Grownups don't.” 

“We definitely do.”

“Like what?”

“Do you want a whole list? Because that will take a while. Or do you want to hear about something I'm looking forward to right now?” 

“Your birthday?” Avery guesses. 

Edward shakes his head. That, he could live without. He says he doesn't care about his age, but it stings a little to be closing in on forty, given Tom is considerably younger. “Fortnite. You and me, tomorrow morning, before your Dad gets up. Otherwise, he'll want to play, and he's terrible at video games.” Avery laughs as Edward hugs him good-night, clambers down from the bed, and turns off the light. 

Tom is waiting for him when he gets downstairs. The gas fire is turned on, along with some low music. The Christmas tree, strung with lights and hung with years' worth of Avery's handprint ornaments and painted baubles is in a corner, and a wineglass sits on the table. “Now,” Tom says, his head propped alluringly on one hand, “we get some grownup time.”

“Grownup time.” Edward joins him on the sofa. Tom slides in close, pressing the wineglass into his hand. Tom gets in a mood like this sometimes, wanting to serve Edward. “Take care of him,” Tom calls it. He doesn't drink himself, not after what he went through with his mum and with Frank. “I like the sound of that.” 

“You deserve it. You're such a good dad.”

“Stepdad.”

“Dad,” Tom repeats, gazing at Edward. His big blue eyes are just as devastating now as they were that first evening, peering at him over a glass of tonic water at Crozier's fiftieth. “Do you want another one?” 

He doesn't mean a drink. It's something they've talked about, off and on, since before the wedding, never really landing on a conclusion. 

Now, Edward knows. “No.” He remembers his own childhood. A packed house, but not one overflowing with love. Never having anything to himself: not toys, not space, not anybody to really listen to him, not even for a minute. “Everything is perfect as it is. Why change that?” 

Tom answers him with a long kiss, which starts off sweet and ends up decidedly spicy. Edward returns his wineglass to the table, careful not to spill any, while Tom makes his way onto Edward's lap. Just as their time is becoming very grownup indeed, Tom pulls back, his cheeks red and his breathing irregular. Edward feels just the same, breathless with love, as if they were new sweethearts rather than an old married couple.

“You,” Tom says, “are the greatest gift I could have hoped for.” 

Edward's heart gives a squeeze. “Tom, you don't have to...”

“And don't tell Avery, but I can't wait anymore.” He leans over the side of the sofa and comes back with a long envelope in hand. He hands it to Edward. The front is blank. Intrigued, Edward opens it. 

One of Avery's pictures greets him. This time, the Lego-headed figures are standing on the deck of a boat. The next page, stapled behind the drawing, is an itinerary for a springtime Disney cruise for the three of them, from Vancouver to Skagway, Alaska. 

“I know it's not exactly how you wanted to see the North, but...”

“It's better.” Without question. 

“Oh, good.” Tom looks so relieved, Edward wonders if he was genuinely worried about the gift's reception. If so, Edward clearly needs to work on being a better husband. He never wants Tom to have the slightest doubt that he would be beyond thrilled to go absolutely anywhere, do absolutely anything with him. With both of them. “You have to act surprised in the morning, though. Avery's been wanting to tell you for weeks. I told him we had to wait for your birthday.” 

“I'll keep your secret.” Edward feels a grin growing on his own face. It wasn't the sort of thing that happened regularly, until he met Tom and Avery. “If you promise not to tell him how good you are at video games.” 

Tom laughs. He kisses Edward again, more briskly this time, and slides off his lap. “Give me a minute, and come join me, almost-birthday boy.”

Edward sips his drink while he waits, savouring the eager excitement that makes his heart beat faster and his palms sweat on the stem of the wineglass. When he can't take it any more, he switches off the fire and follows Tom into their bedroom, locking the door firmly behind him.


	2. 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for 2020.

A year later

There's a stranger in the street.

Over the past nine months, Edward has spent so much time staring out his front window, he knows his neighbours as well as he knows his own family. Better, in some cases. He does have a very large family.

John and Jane Franklin live in the big house on the corner, along with their niece Sophia, who was furloughed back in March and never went back to work. Harry, an A and E doctor who has barely been home for months, lives beside them with his partner Silna, a translator who works from home and walks her big white dog at least three times a day. Directly across from Tom and Edward is Tom's perpetually single mate Billy, who leaves a lot of empty cider tins out on recycling day and has taken, Tom tells him, to dating men over Zoom. Edward hasn't been grateful for much lately, but he's bloody grateful he doesn't have to do that.

It's towards Billy's house this strange man is heading. He's relatively short, wearing a denim jacket and dirty grey trainers despite the December rain. His shoulders are hunched, and there's a weaselly look in his eyes. Edward immediately dislikes him. The man slinks up to Billy's door, but before Edward can see what happens next, his laptop buzzes.

The Minecraft-themed icon on his screen tells him it's Avery ringing. Edward puts on his headset and accepts the call.

"Happy Birthday,” Avery says. “Do you know anything about the Northwest Passage?”

"History's your dad's thing, mate." As they discovered earlier in the year. Since Avery's mother is an essential worker, Avery stayed with Edward and Tom for the entirety of the first lockdown, and most of the subsequent one. That means, of course, that Edward and Tom have been largely responsible for helping with Avery's periods of online schooling, a humbling experience to say the least. You don't know just how much you've forgotten in your life, Edward has come to realize, until you find yourself desperately Googling French verb tenses and how to multiply fractions. "Didn't the two of you write that report about Ancient Egypt?" A report which received a far higher mark than Edward and Avery's project on wind power. Tom was insufferable for days about it.

"Dad's on 'Do Not Disturb'."

Edward hesitates. It's only Monday, but a useless morning meeting during which John Irving tried incessantly to poll the staff on what types of games they wanted to see at the upcoming online Christmas party--the consensus, which Irving steadfastly refused to acknowledge, was "none"--means that Edward's already behind for the week. If he takes the time to help Avery now, he should really work later tonight to make up for it, and that's the last thing Edward wants to do on his birthday. He looks through the camera at the boy he considers his son, sitting on a beanbag chair in his room at Elisabeth's house, and can't bring himself to tell him that. "Let's see what we can find," Edward says instead, and pulls up Google.

Half an hour later, Avery has as much information as anyone could ever want about the Northwest Passage. Edward promises to talk Tom into playing Among Us with the two of them sometime on the weekend. He's just hung up when the front doorbell rings. Automatically, Edward reaches for his face mask, but he hears Tom call, "I'll get it!" Followed by the clattering of his feet on the stairs.

Even though they worked together before the pandemic, once they were sent home Edward and Tom lasted a total of three days with the dining room as their mutual office.

"You type too loudly," was Tom's principal complaint, which Edward was unsure how to argue. "And if I have to listen to you clear your throat one more time, we're getting a divorce." So Tom set up a desk in their bedroom instead, a “short-term measure” that has been going on for nine months now.

At least they both kept their jobs. Plenty of people didn't. Tom has been deeply concerned the stress of trying to keep the company afloat will send Frank back to drink. He spends hours on the computer with Frank each day—much longer, Edward thinks, than he probably has to—trying to avoid just that. It's worked so far, but every setback, every new restriction or step closer to another total confinement brings a new wave of worry for everyone, even now that the vaccine is slowly being sent out.

Edward stretches and looks out the window again. The stranger has disappeared, but the Hartnell brothers, John and Tom, are coming down the street from the park, kicking a football back and forth. He watches them, laughing happily together even in this poor weather, until a new alert draws his attention back to the screen.

It a message from Tom. His Tom. "Get dressed and come to the kitchen."

Edward looks down. He is dressed, in the same general hoodie-and-tracksuit-bottoms combination he's been wearing since the world stopped. "What do you mean?" He starts to type, but Tom interrupts before he gets there. "Something nice." A hesitation, then, “Not the bloody hoodie.”

Intrigued, Edward obeys. His "nice" clothes, the button-down shirts and knife-creased trousers and ties he wore every day in a previous life, haven't been touched for months. They fit a little more snugly than the last time he put them on, but he sucks in the gut he acquired when Tom went on a baking spree in the spring and pulls up his zip. It's not exactly comfortable, and the material of his shirt strains dangerously around the buttons. Ignoring it, Edward chooses a red tie Tom gave him for Valentine's Day and which saw exactly one month of wear, and heads for the kitchen.

Warm light flickers in the darkened room. As he steps inside, Edward sees two candles in the middle of the table. Two places have been set, but rather than across from each other, as they normally are, one is at the head of the table and the other is beside it. He looks over to see Tom standing at the kitchen island, serving creamy-looking pasta and delicious-smelling garlic bread from takeaway boxes. 

He looks up at Edward. “Happy Birthday, love.” 

He's shaved, thank God. Although Edward wouldn't admit it with a gun to his head, he's not a fan of the beard Tom grew during the first lockdown, and which has made periodic recurrences since. Not that Edward's in a position to complain. He himself has gone without a haircut for far longer than is wise several times this year. Smiling, Edward goes over to put his arms around his husband, nuzzling at the smooth cheek. 

“No!” Tom laughs as he pulls away, but he turns to give Edward a lingering kiss on the lips. “Not yet.” 

“The food looks delicious,” Edward says. “And you look amazing.” He's dressed nicely, as well. Although Tom never quite sunk to Edward's slovenly wardrobe depths, this is the first time Edward has seen him in a jacket and tie since March. 

Tom pulls the cork from a bottle of wine and fills two glasses. “Take these to the table,” he instructs, in the competent, no-room-for-argument tone Edward has overheard him using on countless calls with everyone from their suppliers to Frank to his own mother, when she started telling him about some Youtube video she saw about how masks don't really work. 

The meal is heavenly. Edward spares a brief thought for his shirt buttons, then decides he can do whatever he likes on his birthday, particularly this year. He digs in enthusiastically. Tom does the same, twirling pasta around his fork like a professional and sucking it off in a way that, even after all the time they've spent together this year, makes Edward's trousers squeeze just a little bit tighter. 

“Your mum rang me up,” Tom says, and Edward's excitement dulls a little.

“Did she?” 

“She really wants us to go to theirs for Christmas. She says all of your brothers and sisters are bringing their families.” 

Edward sighs. It's not that his mother doesn't believe in the current situation, she just doesn't think it should affect her in any way. “And you told her she's fucking mental to have twenty-seven people over for turkey and Christmas pudding in the middle of a global pandemic?”

“Not in so many words.” 

“I'll speak to her.” Again. “What about yours?” 

“My mother? She's all right. Still not drinking. I'm really proud of her.”

“If you want her to come live here...” Edward has suggested it at intervals, but Tom's answer is always the same. 

“We'd drive her as mad as she'd drive us.” 

Edward can't deny that. He takes a long drink of perfectly dry white wine and bites into a slice of crisp garlic bread. “This is really good. Is it from Donatello's?”

Tom shakes his head. “La Cucina Italiana, near the Tesco. Donatello's closed for good a few months ago.” 

“Oh.” Edward didn't know that. “Well, I like it.” 

They eat in companionable silence. Edward, remembering the stranger he saw in the street, is about to ask Tom if Billy has a new friend, when Tom says, “I'm sorry.” It's such an unexpected statement, Edward has to pause mid-chew to let his mind catch up. 

“Sorry?” He swallows his mouthful. “For what?”

“This isn't the birthday you had last year.” 

“Nothing's the way it was last year, Tommy.” And there's an understatement if ever there was one. A year ago, it had never crossed Edward's mind that his job might become entirely virtual, that they might become largely responsible for Avery's education, that such unremarkable tasks as shopping for food might become both unimaginably stressful and the highlight of their week. That the cruise holiday Tom and Avery were had been so excited to give him for his last birthday would be postponed until 2022. That the world as they knew it would crumble, and they would be left to pick up the pieces. “But it's not been all bad.”

“Oh no?”

Edward shrugs. “I've loved being with you and Avery.” It hasn't always been a picnic, but they've played more board games and video games, had more talks, and read more books together than ever before. He and Avery have graduated from Harry Potter and moved onto The Lord of the Rings, and even he and Tom have taken to lying in bed together, reading classics aloud to each other. Jonathan Swift is a favourite, they've found, although they can both do without Dickens. “And I really love you. Both of you.” Any embarrassment he might feel at such melodrama disappears when Edward sees the look on Tom's face. It inspires him to continue, “It's been a really shitty year, but I'm still happy I got to spend it with you.” 

Tom reaches out and grabs Edward by the tie so suddenly, Edward drops his fork onto the table. Yanking him forward, Tom pulls him into a kiss so long and so heartfelt, it takes all of Edward's willpower not to haul him onto his lap and have his way with him right there, as if they were a pair of horny teenagers rather than a long-married couple. 

Just as he's wondering why he doesn't do that anyway, Tom releases him and says, “Eat up. I got you a tiramisu as a birthday cake. And after that,” he adds, a look that could only be described as sultry in his eyes, “we can go upstairs for dessert.” 

In an instant, all remaining thoughts of neighbourhood strangers and work and lockdown and bloody viruses fly out of Edward's mind so completely, it's as if they were never there. He eats the rest of his birthday meal as fast as humanly possible, with one hand on Tom's thigh and the top button of his trousers preemptively unfastened, to give him a little extra breathing room and to save precious time later on.


End file.
